


It Only Takes One Shot

by BingeWriter



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, But probably not at the same time, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Just a lot of different stuff, Or sometimes at the same time, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:16:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BingeWriter/pseuds/BingeWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arrow drabbles both from my own crazy brain and from your prompts. If you have a drabble request or idea, just let me know in the comments and I will write it.</p><p>Most recent chapters:<br/>Ch 9: College Laundry AU!<br/>Ch 10: 4x06 drabbles<br/>Ch 11: How I thought it would all go down, back when I was young and naive</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cheat Codes

            He stood in the basement as she thundered down the stairs, shirtless, obviously, probably in a desperate ploy to distract her. _Not today, mister_.

            “What the hell were you thinking?” she shouted, striding towards him, the rage almost clouding her vision. Oliver stood stiffly, leveling her with a glare that would leave crime bosses quaking in their boots. Crime bosses, yes, but not Felicity Smoak. She jabbed him in the chest with her index finger, because punching him would probably hurt her more than it would him. “I told you that you were outgunned,” she growled. “You know perfectly well that when you’re in the field, you have to listen to me one hundred percent of the time. When I tell you to get out of there, _you get out of there!_ ”

            “I had the situation under control,” he said through gritted teeth.

            Felicity laughed derisively, grabbing his forearm and gesturing to the thick bandage he’d probably had to tie himself, since she’d been at work. “Under control? Is this what under control looks like to you?”

            “It’s just a graze,” he snapped. “You know I’ve had worse.”

            She threw up her hands. He was _unbelievable_. “This time! It was just a graze this time! You were alone. I wasn’t even here; I was at work. Anything could have happened! Just please explain to me what you were thinking, Oliver. Do you have a death wish? Because that’s what it seems like sometimes.” He didn’t respond, so she kept going, her anger only rising the longer she ranted. “After all this time I thought you’d trust me more, but you’re still stubborn and stupid and _ridiculous_ and I can’t _believe_ you thought chasing after that low-life was worth risking your life.”

            Her eyes raked over Oliver’s face, still shaking with fury, but a little softened by grudging concern. He looked fine, other than the scrape high on his cheekbone. But she looked at him even closer and saw that his pupils were blown. Felicity narrowed her eyes at him, knowing that look on his face, knowing there was a reason he hadn’t argued back yet. _Oh no. Not today_.

He kept staring down at her, gaze more intense than ever. There was a smudge of grease paint at the bridge of his nose, and his mouth was slightly open. He was breathing hard, and so was she. She took a step backwards and he matched it forwards so that he loomed over her, a wall of muscle. A wall of _horny_ muscle. He reached for her, whispering her name, and she spun around and stalked away.

“Felicity,” he called after her, sounding a little more desperate now.

“No,” she shot back at him, leaning purposefully over her computers, doing her best to ignore him. It wasn’t her fault he got turned on every time she yelled at him, and she was still too angry to even think straight, let alone contemplate the idea of having sex with him when she’d much rather kill him. He had another thing coming if he even thought she’d forgive him this _week_ , let alone tonight. He’d brought this upon himself. He could just stand there with his boner feeling sorry for himself. She ran her usual scans with a few taps, carefully maintaining her glower.

Another “Felicity,” this one soft and pleading, and she turned reluctantly around to see him giving her one of those looks that usually left her soft and melty. _Not today_.

“What do you want,” she said, voice harsh.

“I’m sorry,” he said solemnly, eyes not leaving hers.

She raised her eyebrows. That was unexpected.

Oliver took a step towards her, giving her a tiny smile when she didn’t back away. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “And you were right. You’re always right.”

She felt her pulse quicken and a heat rushed through her, fast as a flame.

“I should have listened to you,” he continued. “I do trust you, and it was reckless and idiotic of me not to get out of there as soon as you told me to.”

Felicity was adult enough to admit she had her cheat codes, words that could get her riled up in an instant, and those were the words. All of those words, especially coming out of that mouth, of that gorgeous man who she was currently very mad at.

“Please forgive me,” Oliver finished, the tiny smirk at the corner of his mouth telling her that he knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

Blood rushed down her body, but she glared at him some more because how dare he, all shirtless and sweaty, use her cheat codes when she was supposed to be firm in her righteous anger? Then he raised an eyebrow and she muttered, “Fuck it,” and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him over to the cot. She could yell at him more after.

She shoved him onto the mattress and started to work on the zipper of his leather pants, muttering, “I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again, the dopey grin on his face belying his words.

She put her palm flat on his chest and pushed him backwards. He pulled her on top of him and she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He told her he was sorry twice more—the first time pausing in between thrusts to say the words until she screamed at him that she didn’t care and could he just _keep going_ , and the second time into her shoulder as he lay curled around her. “I really am sorry,” he said that time, nuzzling into her as she sighed. “I know I should have listened, but I just got really caught up in the moment.”

Felicity nodded, because he was warm and safe and she loved him. She tugged his arm tighter around her and said quietly, “Please don’t do it again.”

“I promise.” He kissed her softly on the side of the neck, his leg slipping between hers, and oh god she was still horny.

“Oliver,” she started to say, when he drew back from her a little.

“We should probably figure out where the thugs are holed up,” he said with a sigh. “Half of them got away and they could be anywhere in the city right now.”

Her brow furrowed in frustration. Of course he wanted to go back to business now, now when she desperately needed another orgasm. Then she turned around in his arms and kissed him, chewing on his bottom lip until he moaned. “You know what, Mr. Queen?” she whispered, watching his gaze darken.

“What?” he said hoarsely.

She smiled into his eyes. “I love you.”

Within an instant she was on her back, her legs wrapping instinctively around the man who was currently kissing her like his life depended on it. Because her husband had his cheat codes too, and she just happened to know every single one.

“What about the thugs?” she asked innocently between kisses.

“The police can handle it,” he said dismissively, moving his lips to her collarbone. Then he pulled his face up off her and shot her a mock glare. “I know what you did, by the way.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked him, cocking an eyebrow, hand stroking the back of his neck. “Well I know what you did.”

He gave her that fond smile that took her breath away, even after all these years. “Just giving as good as I get.”

“Never stop,” she whispered, tugging him down again. She supposed she didn’t mind having cheat codes, as long as the right people used them.


	2. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five reasons Ray Palmer is better than Oliver Queen (and one reason it doesn't matter).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure: Words cannot express my dislike of Ray Palmer. That is all I had to say. Other than, this contains a little bit of speculation, so if you're avoiding spoilers, you probably shouldn't read this.
> 
> If you want me to write something, put it in the comments!

I

            Ray was romantic. Their first date, which technically was a work dinner, but whatever, he rented her a dress and a ridiculously expensive necklace. Well, at the time she’d thought it was a little out of place for a platonic coworker type of situation, but looking back on it, it was romance. There had been food and ambiance and at the end of the night, he’d kissed her. Of course then he’d run away, but it had been _nice_ , to be wooed. She’d felt like a woman, like she was desirable. Sure, it was sort of silly of her to appreciate things like that, but that didn’t change the warm glow she felt when he took her out to a fancy dinner or had a bouquet delivered to her office. She was lucky to have someone like Ray to make her feel special.

            _“Felicity?”_

_She smiled at the sound of his voice and spun around in her chair. “Hey! I thought you’d be in here already.”_

_Oliver shifted on his feet, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I was getting something,” he said, eyes soft as he looked at her in that way they’d been since that spring. Since he’d told her he loved her so convincingly that she’d almost believed him._

_Her heartbeat quickened as he walked towards her, and she jumped to her feet to meet him in the middle of the Foundry. “What did you need to get?”_

_He took in a breath like he did every time he told her something important, but this time all he did was pull a small box out of his pocket, handing it wordlessly to her. She could feel a blush begin in her cheeks even before she opened it. It was a pendant shaped like a star. “Is this made of…”_

_“Arrowheads,” Oliver said gruffly, and then the words began. “I was thinking of making something for the baby, but I needed to practice. So I made this first, and I thought of you. I thought you might…like it.”_

_Her eyes shot up to him. He was gazing at her like everything in his life depended on her response. “It’s beautiful,” she said, and the smile she got in return made her own cheeks hurt in the best possible way._

_“Am I interrupting something?” said Diggle’s amused voice from the middle of the stairs, and Felicity realized she hadn’t heard him come in._

_“No,” said Oliver, but he didn’t look away from her and she didn’t stop smiling._

_Later, Diggle asked her about the necklace. “What, he gives you jewelry now?”_

_“It’s probably platonic,” she said, though she couldn’t meet his eyes without grinning._

_“Right, that’s what I’d call it,” her friend said, rolling his eyes. “You two need to get your heads on straight.”_

_Felicity could barely feel her shoes touch the ground for the next three days._

II

            Ray wanted her to be his _partner_. From day one he’d been clear that she was his equal in every way. Hell, he’d made her _Vice President_ when she’d been sure she was going to be his EA. _God, she’d hated being an EA_. He was never dictatorial or closed-off. She was there for every step of his decision-making process and she had a pride in everything he did because it felt like it was half her work too.

            _“Oliver I’m not allowed to go in there,” she hissed, snatching her hand away from his._

_Oliver looked genuinely confused. He gave her that squinty-eyed look of his and put his hand back on her elbow to draw her forward. “Why not?”_

_“Because I’m not an executive. I’m an executive_ assistant _. That is a highly classified meeting and none of those scary CEO’s would be happy that I was there.”_

_He frowned at her. “Why not? They should know that I can’t do anything without you.”_

_She fought her smile at his words and said sternly, “Well then you shouldn’t have made me your executive assistant. They think all I do is bring you coffee.”_

_He looked a little contrite. “Felicity,” he started to say, but they didn’t have time for him to finally feel guilty about making her life a living hell._

_“They don’t know that I’m also your…” Her voice trailed off because she’d been about to mention Arrow-business, and this was not the place for that._

_“Partner?” he asked, still looking at her intently like he wasn’t aware of the giant window right near them through which Felicity could feel the gaze of every CEO in the conference room._

_It was the second time he’d called her that, and it felt even more intimate this time, maybe because of how inappropriately close they were standing, with his hand on her elbow and her fingers clutching his other sleeve, or maybe because of the curious and disapproving glares of the businesspeople (oh, and Isabel looked absolutely_ furious _)._

_She smiled fully this time, and then said, “The meeting starts in five minutes so get in there. You can do it.” Her hand shot up to straighten his tie. She backed quickly away when she realized how inappropriate_ that _had undoubtedly appeared to their audience of CEOs, but he didn’t look fazed._

_“Thanks,” he said seriously, a hand on the doorknob, and she knew he didn’t mean for fixing his tie._

_Felicity grinned encouragingly. “Anytime, partner.”_

III

            Ray trusted her judgment. He’d told her so, multiple times. And sure, it had hurt when he didn’t believe her when she said Oliver wasn’t killing anyone, but he’d apologized, and she had lied to him before that, so he’d had a reason not to trust her. It was a bad reason, but she’d gotten over it. The important thing was, at least he took her words to heart most of the time, unlike what Oliver was doing lately with his ridiculous decision-making and his refusal to explain why he did the stupid things he did. She’d thought they told each other _everything_ , but she guessed not. Nowadays when she argued with Oliver it felt like talking to the air. At least with Ray she could see there was an ear at the other end.

            _It was weird having Laurel in the Foundry. Felicity had always felt awkward around her, partly because of the whole Slade thing, but mainly because Laurel had always looked at her like she wasn’t anyone important. It was just the two of them in the basement that day. Laurel was standing at her shoulder, watching her type, and it was very distracting. Eventually, Felicity spun around in her chair and said, “Oliver isn’t coming in for an hour or so.”_

_Laurel gave her a strained smile and said, “Actually, I sort of wanted to talk to you.”_

_“Okay,” Felicity said hesitantly._

_Laurel furrowed her brow and paused for a couple seconds before saying, “Can I be frank?”_

_Felicity gulped, but said, “Go right ahead.”_

_“I talked to Oliver about joining the team.”_

_Felicity hoped desperately her distaste for that idea didn’t show on her face._

_“Just in an outside capacity. As a lawyer,” Laurel added, and Felicity sagged a little in relief. “But Oliver said he needed to ask you.”_

_Felicity blinked. “Me?”_

_“Well, you and Diggle. He said he couldn’t make that kind of decision without consulting the two of you.” Laurel paused another moment, and the forged ahead. “He said that before I could work with any of you, I needed to understand how important you are. As a lawyer, apparently I’d mainly be talking to you.”_

_“Yes, you would. I’m the one that usually talks to your dad,” she replied, trying to keep her voice light._

_“And apparently he feels like I haven’t exactly been…nice to you. He says I need to talk to you like I would talk to him.”_

_Warmth flooded through Felicity. “Well, he trusts me. And Digg.”_

_“I can see that,” said Laurel thoughtfully._

_Just then, the door opened and Oliver bounded down the stairs. “Felicity?” He paused when he saw Laurel. “Oh.”_

_Laurel looked between the two of them and Felicity gave her an encouraging smile. “So Laurel tells me she’s going to help us out now?” she asked Oliver._

_Oliver’s eyes were fixed on Felicity. He raised his eyebrows, asking her silently if that was okay._

_“I think it’s a good idea,” she told him._

_He nodded at her. “In that case, I agree.”_

_Felicity looked at him for a couple more seconds and could feel they were on the same page. She spun around to face Laurel again. “Welcome to the team.”_

 

IV

            Ray talked to her. He told her with words what she meant to him, talked to her for hours on end about science and his plans for the city and okay, mainly about his suit, but they had _conversations_. Oliver could barely even look at her for the past few months, and when they talked, they fought. In fact, she couldn’t even tell why she was comparing them, because Oliver was closed off and aloof and he wasn’t there when she needed him, and she just wished he would _talk_ to her.

            _Felicity would never forget the happiest moment of her life, and no, it wasn’t when she built her first computer, or when she got into MIT. It was sitting in the restaurant with Oliver minutes before her world blew apart, staring into his eyes as he told her she’d changed his life._

_“You were the first person I could see as a person.”_

_Oliver was a lot of things, and chatty wasn’t one of them. But those words still rang in her ears even months later, and she knew they still would years later. The look in his eyes as he said them, as he willed her to believe him, the nervous, hopeful love that shone from him, how could she ever get over that? And oh, had she believed him._

_They’d never needed words, her and Oliver. They could communicate with the pursing of lips, the raising of eyebrows, the patting of shoulders. And when they did use words, things went wrong sometimes. She would say things she didn’t mean, or he would snap and lash out. But they always understood each other anyway. Felicity had her foot almost constantly in her mouth ever since she’d learned to talk, and she, better than anyone else, knew that words were rarely enough, rarely adequate. It mattered more what you did._

_But there in that restaurant, the explosive already hurtling towards them, Oliver’s words were everything, and the smile on his face, that was just extra._

V

            The bottom line was that Ray was there. He was willing to be with her. He was willing to make her happy, he was willing to _be_ happy. And Felicity deserved to date someone who was an actual option, not pine after a guy who wouldn’t let her have him. That was the bottom line, and she was _fine_ with it.

            _She loved weddings. Weddings made her giddy and dreamy and gushy. Usually. But right now, this one was sad._

_It was strange coming to a wedding with her brand new boyfriend, while her almost-boyfriend stood there and watched her through the entire ceremony, while she did her best to pretend she didn’t notice. She did her best to imagine her and Ray standing across from each other before a minister, but try as she might, it wasn’t his face she saw in her mind. It wasn’t his large, calloused hands sliding the gold band slowly onto her finger. It wasn’t him; it had never been him._

_Oliver asked her if she was happy. How was she supposed to answer that question? Of course she was happy. Felicity was always happy. She couldn’t let herself be otherwise._

_But happy as she was, she couldn’t stand and watch Diggle hold the love of his life, his wife, formerly and newly, in his arms while she could just_ feel _Oliver right next to her, face turned, for once, away from hers. She couldn’t do that because then all she could feel was the pain, the ache, the utter unfairness that she couldn’t tug the man beside her onto the dance floor and wrap her arms around his neck and press her head to his heart. That she couldn’t bring herself to walk across the hall in search of her boyfriend, couldn’t tear herself from Oliver’s side._

_So she kept the smile on her face and kept telling herself how happy she was with the man she was with until she was almost convinced he was the man she wanted._

+1

            Felicity sat by the hospital bed staring into space, Ray clutching one of her hands, her mother the other. “Oh, baby, are you okay?” her mother asked, stroking her wrist. “It must be hard seeing him like this.”

            Felicity turned to her blankly and then remembered she was supposedly in distress over her injured boyfriend, not because the entire SCPD was probably hunting down the Arrow right now. “Yeah,” she said quickly, giving Ray’s hand a guilty squeeze.

            “I’ll be fine, Felicity,” Ray said with a weak smile. 

            Felicity nodded and smiled back. They'd dug an arrowhead out of his abdomen, an arrowhead he'd taken for her, and he'd only woken up ten minutes ago, and it was absurd that all she could think about was her phone on the nightstand.

            A nurse popped her head around the door. “Mr. Palmer? The surgery is going to start in about half an hour. Just wanted to make sure you didn’t need more anesthesia.”

            “I can feel it working,” Ray said, giving her a thumbs up.

            “Great!” she said cheerily and retreated, leaving them alone.

            Donna Smoak had a hand dramatically on her chest. “Surgery? Felicity, you didn’t tell me he needed surgery!”

            Felicity opened her mouth but couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse as to why it had slipped her mind to relay that information. “Sorry,” she said lamely.

            “It’s not easy being a hero,” Ray told her mother, with a cheesy wink.

            Felicity couldn’t help but think about Oliver and the rest of Team Arrow, probably trying to outrun machine gun fire right about now.

            “Thank you for saving my baby’s life, Mr. Palmer,” her mother replied tearfully.

            “Anytime,” Ray said, trying to bow but not managing to move quite that much. “Thank you for coming to help Felicity. She had quite the traumatic experience.”

            “It must have been tough,” her mother said sympathetically. “And now she has to watch you go through surgery.”

            The door opened again and the doctor came in, flipping through papers on her clipboard. “Well, Mr. Palmer, I’m just going to go through the details of your surgery before we get started.”

            “Can my girlfriend stay?” Ray asked, clutching Felicity’s hand tighter.

            “Of course,” the doctor said.

            Felicity’s phone vibrated on the nightstand and they all turned to look at it. “Sorry,” she murmured, wriggling her hand free from Ray’s and picking it up. It was Digg. “Sorry,” she repeated. “Just…five seconds.”

            “No worries,” said the doctor warmly.

            “John?” Felicity said, trying not to let the terror show in her voice.

            “Felicity? We need you.”

            She stood up instantly, heart hammering as he continued.

            “I know Palmer’s in surgery, and _he_ didn’t want to me to call you, but we’re afraid the Foundry’s been compromised.”

            She tucked the phone under her ear, hunting around for her bag as the three other people in the room watched her bewilderedly. “Is he okay?” she asked, her voice quavering.

            “He’s fine, but we need you.”

            “I’m on my way.” She ended the call and shoved the phone in her purse with shaking hands.

            “Felicity what are you doing? They’re operating soon,” her mother said, confused.

            “I have to go,” she said, not meeting their eyes, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

            “Now?”

            “Give me five seconds. Just give me five seconds,” she said desperately, looking around for her coat. _Why had she grabbed her bag before her coat?_

            “Where are you going to go in five seconds?” her mother demanded, looking at her like she was insane.

            “Five minutes,” said Felicity, chewing on her lip. “Five hours. Whatever. Where’s my coat?”

            “On the back of that armchair,” Ray said, and her head snapped over to look at him. He’d managed to sit up. His expression was unreadable.

            “Sorry,” she whispered, stilling for a moment.

            He looked away, comprehension clear on his face.

            Guilt ripped through her once again, but she shoved it down and crossed the room in three strides.

“I’ll stay here,” her mother said, a knowing look on her face as well, and Felicity sent her a muttered “Thanks” as she grabbed her coat off the back of the chair and clomped out of the room. She jogged down the hallway in her heels, pulling out her phone and tracking her team. She made it to where they were, in the alley outside the club, in fifteen minutes flat.

            “Hey,” she called out, relief flooding through her to see her boys unharmed.

Oliver turned around at the sound of her voice and looked at her like he hadn’t seen her in decades, and she felt herself blush faintly. “You’re here,” he breathed.

            “Where else would I be?” she asked gently, and he looked just as thrown as the first time she’d said it.

            “SCPD will be here in two minutes,” Digg said, staring intently down at his phone. “Looks like they’re bringing every officer they’ve got.”

            Oliver closed his eyes, looking so lost that Felicity couldn’t help but step forward and take his hand. He opened his eyes and looked at their joined hands and then up at her.

            “We’ll get through it,” she whispered, staring up at him with every ounce of conviction she had.

            He took a shuddering breath. “Thanks for choosing us.”

            Felicity closed her eyes and nodded, because if after all this time he still refused to accept that what he said all that time ago applied to her too, that she too had no choice to make, that she’d always, _always_ choose him, then there was no way she could make him see otherwise. So she just stood next to him, his hand hot in hers, as they waited for whatever the world threw at them, together in almost every way. And Felicity finally decided after nearly a month of dancing around the issue that she was going to have to break up with Ray.


	3. I Missed You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Olicity smut outside. Oliver in his Arrow suit...  
> That be fun. Maybe he could surprise Felicity or something..."
> 
> ~Prompt from dollhouse

            It just felt so _empty_ without Oliver. She still spun in her chair and ran comms and hacked things, but she spoke a little louder to fill up the space and left a little sooner to sulk at home. Except home felt empty without him too. It felt like every aspect of her life was threaded with him in some way, and now, without him, she felt unraveled.

            God, was she clingy? She didn’t want to be clingy. She’d let him go to Central City to help Barry even though she really, really would rather he stayed with her, and not just because of the physical stuff, though that was amazing. She wanted to wake up with his arms banded around her middle, to catch his eye across the room and see him smile like he couldn’t help it, to just sit and watch him, now that that was something she was allowed to do. But instead she was stuck here while he was off being a hero, stuck here missing him so much it was downright _pathetic_.

            Her cell phone rang and she snatched it off the table, stomach flipping when she saw Oliver’s name flash on the screen. “Hey.”

            His voice was low in her ear. “Hey.”

            She saw Diggle turn his head towards her and she nodded at him that Oliver was okay. “You’re okay, right?”

            “Yeah I’m fine. Felicity,” he paused, as if he were making a decision. “Where are you?”

            A delicious shiver crept up her spine. They’d been experimenting with phone sex, which she’d used to think was sort of stupid, but it most certainly was _not_ , at least not with Oliver. He could get her turned on with a single sentence. “I’m in the Arrow cave,” she said regretfully. “But I’m leaving soon.”

            “Oh,” he said. Then, “Don’t call it that.”

            She giggled. “When are you coming back?”

            “Early tomorrow morning.”

            _Yes_. “Good. Great. Awesome. How’s Barry doing?”

            He didn’t answer for a couple seconds and then said, “Felicity? I’m going to have to call you back.”

            She sagged in disappointment and then straightened in worry. “Is everything okay?”

            “Yes, I’ll just call you back.”

            She nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Bye, Oliver.”

            “Bye.”

            The line clicked dead and Felicity stared at the phone in her hand for so long that Diggle asked her if anything was wrong. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just going to leave now.”

            “You can leave. We’ll be okay. It’s a quiet night anyway,” he said, but the concerned look stayed on his face.

            Felicity didn’t feel like explaining that everything was truly fine and that she just missed her boyfriend, because he hadn’t actually been away _that_ long, and the more she thought about it, the sadder it was that she was reacting like this. So she just gathered up all her things and walked out, heading towards her car. She still wasn’t used to the new location. It was quieter here; it was on the very outskirts of the city in an abandoned factory next to a row of old warehouses, and she usually parked a few blocks away because there wasn’t actually a parking lot nearby. It was an adjustment that she’d gotten used to pretty quickly, but today she walked as fast as she could in her heels, partly because of how chilly it was, but partly because usually when she made this walk she was with Oliver, and usually the streetlamp wasn’t blown out, and usually she wasn’t being followed.

            There was a shadow that moved with her that wasn’t hers. She could hear the faint sound of footsteps from somewhere above her. They thought they were being subtle, but she could tell. She was being followed. There was a time when the knowledge would make her panic, but that was old Felicity, pre-Oliver Felicity. Now she just felt focused. She clutched her pepper spray tightly with one hand inside her bag and counted down from five, whirling around when she hit one, pointing the pepper spray straight upwards. “I know you’re there!” she said, proud at her steady voice. “And I am _not_ afraid to use this. I mean, it probably won’t do anything to you since you’re all the way up there but…”

She finally looked up and caught her breath in a gasp. She saw a figure standing on the roof of the warehouse closest to her, not even attempting to hide, and she _knew_ that silhouette. Even as she watched, he walked closer to the edge of the roof, leaping off of it without even a second of hesitation. He landed gracefully in front of her. She dropped the can of pepper spray with a clatter. They looked at each other a moment and then reached forward at the same time, his hands landing familiarly on her hips, her fingers gripping the sides of his hood.

            They kissed like it had been _years_. She supposed—she _hoped_ —it would always be like that for them. His stubble was scratchy against her face, but his mouth was soft and warm and _she’d missed him so much_. She took his lower lip between her teeth and wrapped her arms tighter around his head to drag him down even further, barely noticing her glasses going lopsided on her nose. He moaned. She smiled.

The green leather was worn under her fingertips and cold against the leg she’d now hitched around his waist, and when she pulled back a moment to breathe she saw that he was still wearing his mask. It was _so hot_. Especially since there was a flush on his face from kissing her, and he was staring at her like he wanted to devour her. “Hot,” she mumbled, surging forward to suck on his tongue. He rucked up her skirt to put his hands on her ass, and he still had his gloves on. And wow, she’d thought she couldn’t get any more turned on.

            She jumped up to wrap her other leg around him, and he spun them around to slam her against the cold metal of the warehouse doors, one of his hands shooting up to cradle her head as a shield. He kissed down the side of her neck and she gasped and wriggled against him, until he abruptly pulled away like he was just now realizing what they were about to do, out in the open where anyone could see.

            The cool breeze nipped at her bare legs but she could only feel the pool of wetness grow between her thighs. She’d never been an exhibitionist, but all she could think right now, as the sheet of metal behind her slowly warmed, as Oliver’s breath huffed unevenly against her neck, was how _hot_ they had to look, her skin glowing in the moonlight, whiter than ever against the dark of his leather, his quiver digging into the flesh of her thigh. Oliver raised his head to look at her, his pupils blown, a question in his eyes. She responded by rolling her hips again, which earned her another moan.

            “Fuck, Felicity.”

            Her lips found the underside of his jaw. “Zipper,” she whispered.

            Instead of reaching down to undo _his_ zipper, his hand slid behind her back to pull down the zipper of her dress. She whimpered as the skin of her back touched the metal door. “Wrong zipper,” she started to say, breathing faster as he tugged her dress off her shoulder, exposing a breast to the night air. But then he took her nipple in his mouth and sucked lightly and she moaned, “Or right zipper.”

            He laughed lightly, rocking into her even more. The tips of his gloved fingers brushed the underside of her breast, and no, as a matter of fact, it still was the wrong zipper because if he didn’t get inside her sometime _immediately_ , she would probably die.

            She ran her palms down his leather-clad chest, and then followed the same path with her nails. Then she kept wriggling until he finally snapped with a growl. She felt his hand reach between them, and then suddenly his gloved palm came to rest beside her head as he braced them against the warehouse door, his other hand pushing her panties aside as he slid roughly into her, making her cry out.

            He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Someone will hear you,” he huffed.

            She clung tighter with her arms, her ankles locked behind him. “Don’t care. Harder.”

            He was happy to oblige, slamming into her with irregular thrusts. The leather rubbed between them, and Felicity felt like all sensation. She could feel the sheet metal vibrate behind her, her exposed breast bouncing with every motion, her heels slowly slipping off her feet. It didn’t take very long for the orgasm to wipe every other sense clean and she shouted _something_ (she hoped not his name because they were, after all, outside, and he was, after all, wearing the hood), and he followed her over the edge moments later, his head falling to rest on her shoulder. She slipped her hands under his hood and stroked his hair, waiting for him to look up.

            He did, finally, his blue eyes meeting hers through her fogged up glasses, and he breathed, “Hi.”

            “Hi,” she said back, smiling as her fingers coasted over his stubble.

            His arms held her strongly up as he redid both their zippers, pulling her dress back up and back down as far as he could with her legs still around him. Then he reached up to straighten her glasses. “I missed you,” he said softly.

            “Really? I couldn’t tell,” she teased.

            He rolled his eyes but smiled.

            “I missed you too,” she admitted, and he kissed her gently before putting her down. She gripped his elbow as she searched for her heels with her toes.

            “Barry is fine, by the way,” Oliver said, a laugh clear in his voice.

            Felicity found her heels and stepped into them one by one. “I take it you hitched a ride?”

            He shrugged at her, tugging her closer to kiss the side of her head. “I wanted to surprise you.”

            “That you did,” she said fondly, pulling his hood down over his eyes.

            “I’ve got to say, I didn’t expect that.” He gestured between them and then at the warehouse.

            She smirked. “You definitely should have expected that.”

            They joined hands and started towards Felicity’s car, and Felicity was very, very sure about two things: one, next time, she would without a doubt have to go to Central City with Oliver; and two, they had to have sex in the Arrow suit again. As soon as possible.


	4. Back in the Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heist AU

            “Felicity Smoak?” Oliver had to check twice that this was the right office, because there at that desk sat a tiny blonde, and there was no way she could be the legendary hacker his father had told him about.

            She spun around in her chair to face him, blinking innocently and pulling the red pen she was chewing on out of her mouth. “Yes. That is me. That is I? I never know which one to use.” She tilted her head in contemplation. “I guess it’s ‘That is I’ but that sounds really supervillain-y.”

            He couldn’t tell whether to smile or to frown in confusion, because she was nothing like what he’d expected and it was throwing him off. He decided he’d put her to the test before coming to any conclusions and pulled the laptop out from behind his back. “I’m having some trouble with my computer and they told me you were the person to come and see.”

            She stared at it for a long moment with her mouth slightly open, until she finally said, “What did you _do_ to it?”

            He’d run over it twice with his car and then put it in the oven for fifteen minutes. He gave her his most charming shrug. “Can you just see what you can salvage from this?”

            She took it hesitantly from him, flipping it over in her hands. “Okay, and I don’t say this often, but I can’t fix this. _Even I_ can’t fix this. And I’m a genius.”

            Oliver sighed, but he’d prepared for this possibility. “In that case the laptop controls my home security. Can you just…hack into that real quick and change the settings?”

            Felicity’s glasses slipped down her nose as if in shock, and she shoved them back up with a finger. “Let me get this straight, you want _me_ to hack into _your_ home security for you?”

            Oliver nodded briskly.

            “Right now? From here?”

            “Can you not do it?” he asked disbelievingly. He knew she could.

            Felicity took in an incredulous breath. “I mean, yeah, I can. But…”

            He raised an eyebrow, waiting. If she was anywhere near half the woman his father had said she was, she would have done it already.

            “Look…mister… What did you say your name was?”

            “Oliver Queen,” Oliver said promptly.

            “Okay, Oliver Quee—“ She stopped talking abruptly and it looked like her eyes were popping out of her head. “I know who you are. You’re Mr. Queen.”

            “Mr. Queen was my father,” said Oliver, amused.

            “Right, that’s who I was thinking of. Robert Queen. The notorious Green Arrow. But he’s dead. Shot twice in the head with a 32.” She winced. “Which you probably didn’t want to hear about again. But you’re the son. The son who’s been missing for five years. We all thought you were dead.”

            “Thanks for the summary,” he said with a smirk.

            She had this frown on her face like she could see right through him. “No,” she said all of a sudden and turned resolutely away from him.

            “What?”

            “No. To the question you’re going to ask me,” she replied, looking down at her hands. “I’m done in the business.”

            Oliver had been expecting that. But he’d come with a different tactic in mind too. “We should go out and get lunch.”

            She was shaking her head already. “I already said no, Queen.”

            He nodded. “I know. But it’s lunchtime. You look hungry. I’ll pay.”

            Felicity spun back to face him, tilting her head. “I know it’s just part two of the pitch.”

            Oliver shook his head solemnly. “It’s just lunch. I swear.”

            Her stomach growled and he grinned triumphantly. She chewed on her lip a moment, considering. “Big Belly Burger okay?”

 

            Felicity was a _talker_. By the time their burgers and shakes had arrived, Oliver knew she loved her work but hated her job (“There’s a _difference”_ ), that she’d taken in a stray cat for three weeks before the owner had claimed it, and that she was allergic to nuts. He steered the conversation back to the business after she took a happy sip of her chocolate milkshake and told him she preferred mint chip.

            “So what made you go straight?” he asked, throwing subtlety away.

            “I’ve always been straight. I might have kissed a girl once or twice, but tequila was usually involved.”

            “Felicity…”

            She sighed and swirled her straw around her drink. “Didn’t we agree not to talk about it?”

            “Yes, but you knew I would anyway.”

            Felicity looked up at the ceiling for a long time. “What do you know about me?”

            “Vegas girl, MIT grad, world-class hacker,” Oliver rattled off. “When you were seventeen, you and your then-boyfriend performed a series of hacks against several Vegas casinos. You were never caught, but your boyfriend eventually went to prison. You’re a legend.”

            A faint blush appeared on her face, but her eyes stayed trained above them. “So you did your research.”

            Oliver shook his head. “It’s just what my dad told me.”

            Her gaze snapped to his. “Your dad?”

            He shrugged. “He always told me that if I ever joined the family business, I should reach out to you. He’d been keeping an eye on you.”

            Her blush grew but she shook her head stubbornly. “I told you. I’m _out_ , Queen.”

            Oliver was not at all a talker, but he could sense that the only way through to her was to open up first. So he leaned forward and started to tell her everything. “I found out about the Business when I was eighteen. The general notion had always been that my family made our money by stock market speculation, but the truth was a little more complicated.”

            Felicity snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”

            “I have to admit, I wasn’t all that thrilled at first. I was always…irresponsible.” A wince passed over his face at the thought of his old self. “But I think I always drew the line at large-scale theft. I think the worst part for me was how _proud_ my dad always was of all of it. My mom, she never knew. Still doesn’t know.” It was hard for him to talk about his father’s death, even now, but Oliver pushed on. “My dad used to tell me all about his heists, and give me tips, like he wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I never wanted to. But one day he told me about the biggest heist of his career.”

            Felicity seemed engrossed, not even noticing the smudge of ketchup on her nose. Oliver smiled a little as he continued.

            “It wasn’t necessarily the biggest monetarily, but it meant the most to my dad because he’d just found out that the man he wanted to rob had betrayed him. They were old friends before my father had made the discovery. It was personal. Then, two months after he started planning, we found him with two bullets in his skull.” Oliver said the last words matter-of-factly, but Felicity looked intensely sad. “I never found proof that it was the same man who’d betrayed him, but I am sure it was. He and his accomplices did everything in their power to ruin us. Now, my family has next to nothing to our name.”

            Felicity shivered, twisting her hands in front of her. “And you want revenge.”

            He paused because he’d never thought of it as revenge. “It’s justice.”

            She didn’t reply, just looked thoughtful.

            “After my father died, I found a message from him to me, telling me to carry on his legacy as the Green Arrow. He also included the plans he had to his last big heist.” He’d never told anyone _this_ much. It was hard to get the words out. “I never wanted this life for myself, but now it seems like the only way to save my family and honor my father.”

            She was tracing patterns on the table with her finger and it was a while before she spoke. “Died,” she said finally.

            Oliver shook his head in confusion.

            “You said my boyfriend went to prison, but he actually _died_ in prison.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “It’s why I left the business. It’s why I can’t go back.”

            He processed this new information. “You left for him,” he said finally. “You have to go back for yourself.”

            “I don’t,” said Felicity firmly, “have to go back.”

            “You’ll want to when you find out the target,” Oliver said confidently.

            She raised her eyebrows at him.

            “Malcolm Merlyn.”

            He watched her expression change swiftly from curiosity to fury. “Oh.”

            “Yeah.”

            She seemed to be struggling with herself, her gaze flickering from his face to her hands to the ceiling. “Equal split,” she said finally.

            Oliver tried not to smile. “Of course.”

            “How many people on the team?” she asked briskly, sitting up straighter.

            “One other, so far.”

            Felicity nodded. “We’ll have to talk over some things.”

            “I’ll consult you in my decisions,” he said solemnly. She’d been in the game longer than he had, after all.

            She sighed, resigned. “I’m in.”

            This time he didn’t stop the smile that split his face. “Partners?” he asked hopefully, holding out a hand.

            “Partners,” she agreed, taking it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an "Oh SHIT" moment at the end of writing this because I desperately want to make this a multi-chapter fic. The entire story sort of popped into my head and my fingers are itching to type it out. It would feature all of Team Arrow plus Tommy (cause why not) plus the rest of the Queens, and every moment I think about this, I add another character to the roster.
> 
> But I absolutely do NOT have time for this because RL and "A Weekend in Vegas" and the two other multi-chapter fics that I plan to start after I finish the one I'm working on now (I gotta say the two other ideas are pretty swell. They're gonna be great). But this one has so much potential too!
> 
> What do you guys think?


	5. You Haven't Lost Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3x20 jet scene speculation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've avoided reading any others of these, so if this is familiar, it's probably because we all have similar ideas on what this scene could possibly be. (Also I'm unbelievably excited for next week!!!!)

            Numb. He felt numb as he walked slowly across the tarmac to the waiting jet. He should feel something, right about now. This short walk was him losing _everything_ , leaving behind his life, his love, his name.  He thought he’d lost everything before, but that was nothing, _nothing_ compared to what he’d lost now. And he couldn’t feel. He’d finally broken completely because he couldn’t feel.

            He climbed into the jet and tossed the duffel bag up on the overhead compartment and then froze. Because _no_. She couldn’t be here. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

            “What are you doing here,” he said, and it came out like a growl.

            She didn’t wince. She sat there, gazing up at him, looking like a goddamn angel with her golden hair tumbling around her shoulders, eyes wide and sad.

            “You can’t be here,” he said forcefully. “ _Felicity_.”

            She stood up at his last strangled cry and stepped forward until she was close enough that if he leaned down he could kiss her, if he could lean down, if he could let himself lean down. “This is where I have to be,” she whispered.

            Oliver shook his head. This was the last place she should be. “I don’t want you near him. He’ll use you to get to me. He’ll—“ He swallowed. He could feel himself shaking and Felicity’s face blurred before his eyes. “I already lost Thea,” he choked out, barely recognizing his own voice. “He…he killed my sister. I don’t know what he’ll do to…” _The woman I love_. And the dam broke and all he could do was feel. Through the fog of pain and fury he felt a small hand slip into his and tug him gently forward. He followed blindly. He felt another hand on his chest, pushing him into a seat, and then he felt a warm body press into him.

            “We’ll get her back,” said her voice in his ear and he wrapped his arms around every part of her he could reach, his face falling instinctively into the crook of her neck. She just settled into him, arms coming up around his shoulders. He sank further against her, because she was there, because suddenly all he could think was that if she let go, the pain might just kill him.

            She rocked him a little, fingers running lightly through his hair and it was a while before he could find the breath to respond. “I’ve lost everything,” he finally whispered into her.

            She shook her head and he could feel the movement through her body. “You haven’t lost me,” she said fiercely.

            But he had. Worse, he’d been the one to let her go. And now she’d moved on, to another life, to another man. At this remembrance, he drew away, as far as he could with her arms still around him.

            He watched her face fall, and then her eyebrows furrowed determinedly over her wet eyes. She brought her hands from his neck to cup his face, wiping away tears he hadn’t realized he had shed. “You’re not going to lose me,” she said, her voice strong with conviction.

            “Even if…” His voice was clogged and he cleared his throat and tried again. “Even if we do bring her back, there will be nothing left for me. I’ll have to be Ra’s. They’ll strip away my identity, everything that I am.”

            “Then don’t let them,” she said, like it was simple, like there was still hope. She leaned up and kissed him on the forehead. His eyes closed automatically.

            “I love you,” he breathed because he couldn’t help it.

            In response, she burrowed against him, and he let his arms band around her, let himself steal her warmth. And he felt like her hands in his hair were the only things holding him together. And he felt like pushing her away was the biggest mistake he’d ever made.


	6. Staged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe Something like O overhears Thea and Felicity talking about her sex with Ray and decides to do something about it."
> 
> ~Prompt from Acapulco
> 
> (I changed it to a phone call instead)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3x20 hype made me want to write smut. In fact, I'm probably going to spend most of this week writing smut, so that's good for you.
> 
> This is complete and utter crack, but I hope you like it anyway!

            Felicity is talking on the phone. She spins slightly from side to side, kicking her heels in the air. Oliver is mesmerized.

            He doesn’t think she knows he’s there. It’s the only way he gets to watch her anymore, from the shadows, wondering what it would be like to do more than just watch.

            “The sex is worth it though,” she says all of a sudden, this blush creeping up her face, and Oliver can feel every part of him stiffen. “Ray and I do this thing on the weekends where we pull up an online list of great sex positions and then we go through them one by one and try to rate them ourselves. We usually don’t get too far, but it’s fun.” She laughs lightly, and Oliver feels a flash of cold before suddenly everything is hot, white rage.

            Felicity is _still_ talking. He can barely hear her over the sound of the blood boiling in his ears, but she’s still going strong. “Oh, and Caitlin, Ray is so good with his hands! Of course I wouldn’t expect any better from an engineer, but wow is he good.”

            In the traitorous corners of his mind, Oliver can just see Palmer’s hands all over Felicity, on that perfect pearly skin that he himself has never been allowed to touch the way he wants to. He can see Palmer kneel in front of her and spread her legs and run his palms all the way up to tops of her thighs and then suddenly, before Oliver is entirely aware of what he is doing, he’s stepping out of the corners of the lair.

            She sees him almost immediately, and damn it, he can’t read her expression. “Caitlin? I’m going to have to call you back.”

            Her eyes are right on him. He can feel his breath coming in gasps, his fists clenching at his sides, but he can’t figure out what to do. He wants to kiss her until every last smudge of her too-pink lipstick ends up on his own mouth. He wants to slam her against the wall and have his way with her until she forgets Palmer’s name, until she forgets her own name. He wants, he wants…

            She licks her lips then, and he snaps. He takes two steps forward and hauls her chair forward until her knees are bumping his shin. He leans forward until he can feel her sharp exhales on his own mouth.

            “Oliver, what?” she breathes.

            “Say my name again,” he tells her, because he can still hear Palmer’s name echoing in the room, because he wants her to remember who exactly he is before he kisses her senseless.

            “Oliver,” she says readily, and oh, her voice is different. It’s lower, and deliberate, and he barely notices because he’s too busy scraping his teeth against her lower lip. The inside of her mouth is incredibly soft, and the last time he kissed her, he hadn’t gotten this far, hadn’t gotten to suck her tongue into his mouth like he does now. She likes that. She makes this noise, this muffled little moan, but it isn’t nearly loud enough. He has more to do.

            His hands are braced against the back of her chair, but he can’t keep them there. It’s important where he puts his hands. This is the only thought running through his head, almost more of a thought than he’s even capable of thinking, because _her_ hands haven’t been still. They’re sliding up his arms, around the back of his neck, running through his neck, scratching his stubble. He cups her face and kisses her harder. She tugs him further down until his back aches dimly from the strain. He doesn’t care.

            He moves his mouth to her neck. God, he loves her neck. He’s lost more time than he can measure staring at the spot where her shoulder curves upwards, dimples inward. It’s as soft as he knew it would be. It’s smooth and tender, and he loves the way it turns pink under the scratch of his beard. He loves the feel of her pulse against his lips, the vibrations from her soft moans against his nose. “Say my name again,” he whispers into her skin.

            “ _Oliver_.”

            He lifts off her and she looks so disappointed. _Good_. He worms an arm around her waist and the other under her legs, and she clutches his neck as he scoops her up. He buries his lips in her arm because already, he’s gone too long without tasting her.

            The cot bounces twice with her weight when he drops her on it. She looks up at him, face flushed, half her hair out of her ponytail. He can see her breasts heaving under her tight dress, but he’ll deal with those later. For now, he grabs her left foot, taking the shoe carefully off, and throwing it across the room. She doesn’t object, but there’s a grin on her face as she watches it clatter on the concrete. He loves her smile, but he doesn’t want her to smile right now. He wants her to scream.

Her foot is soft and small in his hands. He rubs circles into them with his thumb, working his way up from the toes to the heel. Then he runs his hand up her ankles, up her calves, lingering around her knees with his fingers inching higher. She’s trembling under him. He can see he’s driving her crazy. He works up the inside of her thigh, holding her leg up higher still until he can see just how wet he’s made her. The tip of his thumb brushes the edge of her panties.

She’s holding her breath. Her eyes are squeezed shut, her lips are moving wordlessly. He watches her gasp as he runs his fingers deliberately along, pushing up her skirt further. Oliver hooks his fingers under her panties and pulls them slowly down, fingers trailing on her skin. The cloth catches around her ankles and he pauses to pull her other shoe off before tossing the panties over his shoulder. His hands drop between her legs and he rubs in and skims over, watching her face. Her face is the most familiar thing in the world to him, and it is a travesty that until this moment he hasn’t seen what her face looks like when he’s fingering her.

She lets out this gorgeous sound when he presses on her clit and his pants are so tight he wonders if they’ll just split open. “How are my hands?” he demands, and it’s the closest he’s ever used to his Arrow voice with her.

            “So good,” she moans, wriggling into them.

            That wasn’t good enough. He thrusts two fingers into her without warning, and she cries out. He moves his hands mercilessly, curling his fingers inside her and creeping up under her dress with the other as far as he can, until he is palming the underside of her breasts.

            “Oliver!” she yells as he circles her clit harder. She is clawing on the sheets now, tossing her head from side to side. She’s beautiful.

            “How are my hands?” he growls.

            “Fantastic, amazing, Oliver _please_.”

            “What do you want?” he asks, drawing his fingers out of her and trailing the moisture all the way up her legs.

            “You,” she gasps.

            He can give her that. He unzips his pants just as she hooks her feet around his waist and scoots herself to the edge of the mattress. She reaches up and frees her hair and it’s tumbling everywhere, and he just freezes. He shouldn’t ever have reached this point. He didn’t think he’d ever be here, looking down at this girl he loves so much that she’s the only thing he’s sure about, and it can’t, it shouldn’t, be possible. It’s all he ever wanted, and he can’t seem to move.

            And then Felicity’s there, guiding his hands to her hips, moving until she’s inches from where they want to be. And she tangles her fingers in his. “I love you,” she whispers.

            That’s all it takes. He snaps forward, plunging into her, and she’s just as perfect as he knew she would be. They groan at once, and then move at once. His muscles are trembling and the bed is bouncing up and down, but they just can’t seem to go fast enough. He can hear her shouts, dim in his ears, feel her fingers tightening around his. His legs give out and he falls into her and she screams his name and they fall apart together, his face buried in her neck.

            The next thing he can feel is her hand running down his back, and the realization of what he’s done. He’s messed up so many times, but this one is the worst, and as soon as she came to her senses she will never forgive him. He’s lost her for good this time. He draws in a shaky breath, trying to memorize the smell of her, the feel of her arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

            “What?” says Felicity.

            He lifts his head, and her face is still so sleepy and happy and it hits him again how much he wants this for the rest of his life. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he says in a rush. “I know you’re with Ray. I know things are going well. I screwed everything up. You just said…and I reacted. It was selfish. It was stupid. I’m sorry.” His eyes are shut by the end of his ramble. He can’t look at her. He can’t look at her and see the disappointment, see the rejection. But he can’t bring himself to move away.

            “No, I’m sorry,” she says and he draws a shuddering breath. There it is. He nods his understanding and forces his body back, away from her. “No, hey, Oliver, that’s not what I meant!” she yelps, and then she…laughs? He squints his eyes open and she’s smiling, blinding and surreal.

            His heart is pounding so fast he thinks he might just break. “What did you mean?” he asks hoarsely.

            She loops her arms around his neck to keep him in place, as if he would ever leave. “I broke up with Ray. A few days ago, actually. And I’ve been hinting at it for days but you were too busy being broody to notice.”

            He stares at her, tries to be offended and fails miserably. “So you staged a phone call to make me jealous? Dick move, Felicity.” She gives him one of those sorry faces that always make him want to kiss her, and now he can, so he does.

            “In my defense,” she says when they’re finally done. “I knew you wouldn’t have done anything about it without a push.”

            He kisses her on the nose. “You can’t have known that.”

            She raises an eyebrow. “I knew you’d be good with your hands, didn’t I?”

            Oliver can feel himself grinning like an idiot. “I love you.” Saying it is easier than breathing.

            “I love you too,” she says with a shy smile, and the words just skip out of her mouth like a song.

            That was the last straw. They couldn’t stay here any longer. He grabs her by the wrist and tugs her up off the bed, grabbing her panties and the one shoe off the floor and handing them to her. Then he pulls her to the stairs, not bothering with her other shoe.

            “Oliver, where are you taking me?” she laughs from behind him.

            “Home,” he says, even though home is really wherever she is.

            “Right now?”

            He turns around to smirk at her, and watches her sparkling eyes darken ever so slightly. “You said something about trying out different sex positions. Well, it just so happens I have a few ideas…”


	7. The Man Without a Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al Sah-him returns to Starling City, two years after he left for good.

            He didn’t belong to this world anymore. The old memories echoed in his head but he shut them out. They weren’t his anymore. They belonged to Oliver Queen.

            The city hadn’t changed. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but the cars still drove their usual routes and the lights still flickered on when the sky matched his robes and the wind still whistled between the buildings, the buildings that still stood as firm in the ground as they had when he’d been their protector. Now he was their enemy.

            The Demon’s Head had sent him to Starling with the quiet confidence that he wouldn’t break and become his old self, and sure enough, Al Sah-him stared down into the streets and felt…nothing. He took down his target without flinching; it didn’t feel like his hands drawing back the bow, the screams when he finished glanced off his ears without making them ring.

            His instructions were to head back after he was done, but he found his feet moving to the loft where he’d lived in another life. He was allowed to feel curiosity. He was allowed to wonder what had become of he people he’d loved. The city had moved on, and his loved ones had doubtless moved on as well. The thought filled him with nothing but peace.

            In his worst visions the loft was empty, but as he stood and watched it was as alive as it had ever been. The windows were big and open and the lights were all on. There were four people sitting at a table, his sister facing him. She was smiling. At the sight, something inside him stirred that he’d stomped to submission over the course of two years. It had all been for her. Seeing her smile made it all worth it. To the right of his sister sat the man that had been his brother in all but name, his wife across from him. And, back to the window, a head of blonde hair.

            Everything inside him froze when he saw her. He’d been told to erase every part of him that was Oliver Queen, but he’d kept her. He’d kept her locked up in the back of his mind, heart, soul like the treasure that she was. On some days, when he could barely remember his own name, he escaped to the feel of her mouth on his skin, the words she’d whispered there. Other times it was her smile that kept him going, her laugh he hadn’t heard nearly enough, the way she twirled in that chair of hers, the way her hair curled at the ends, the way her hands moved through the air with every word. _Her_. She was the last secret he had left. She was the last he had left.

            He wanted her to turn around. He didn’t want much, not anymore. He acted and reacted and angered, sometimes, and that was the most of it. The _wanting_ was the first thing they’d torn away. But now, here, looking at that blonde head that had once been his everything—still _was_ his everything—he felt every corner of the empty shell he now was flood with a simple, desperate want. He had to see her face. She had to turn around.

            She didn’t turn around. She stood and walked around the table, back still to him, and put her arms around his sister, rocked her back and forth. And then she walked to the door and left, all without letting him even catch a glimpse of anything more than her golden hair.

            He followed her home. It was automatic. From up on the rooftops, he could see the top of her head, the outline of her glasses. It wasn’t enough. He wanted to see if her eyes were as blue as he remembered.

            She still lived in her townhouse. Security hadn’t gotten any better. He stood on the next roof over and watched through the open blinds as she toed off her shoes and strolled closer to the window. He wondered if she’d moved on. Maybe she’d gotten back together with Palmer. Maybe she smiled into someone else’s eyes. He hoped she still smiled.

            He’d meant it when he said he wanted her to be happy. He saw her dimly through the window, and she wiped her eyes, and the thought that she still hurt made _him_ hurt. He hurt. He let the feeling course through him. Even pain was a luxury he was not allowed anymore.

            He spotted the instant her eyes fell on him through the window and his heart skipped. He’d forgotten it could do that. She all but ran to throw the window open, and he knew he should go, but his legs felt stuck. He knew what he looked like from a distance, a black silhouette indistinguishable from the other hundred black silhouettes that he would command. But she knew it was him. He didn’t know how she could, but she knew.

            He forced his legs back, taking two steps away, then four, and then she whispered his name, and the wind brought it straight to his ears like a gift. “ _Oliver_?”

            No one had called him that in two years. He turned back despite himself, and finally, he could see her face. The look on her face…

            “Oliver!” she shouted, swiping at new tears. “Oliver don’t leave. Don’t you dare leave.”

            No matter how many oaths he swore, he’d listen to her first. He didn’t leave. He watched as she threw the window wider open, stepping back to give him room to come in. She was sobbing now, sobbing because she knew he couldn’t come in, because she knew as well as he did that there was more than the gap between the buildings standing between them.

            “Please,” she said, arms around her own shoulders like that could hold everything together.

            He couldn’t say no to her. He had never said no to her. As soon as his feet touched her carpet, she flung herself at him like she didn’t even see the color of his hood. She sobbed and held him and he could feel her tears soak through his robe, could feel her shoulders shaking and her arms band around him. But he couldn’t hold her back.

            He stood perfectly straight as she cried herself out, rubbing her hands down his back, and then she tilted her head back to look at him, and yes, her eyes were really that blue. “I love you,” she said, almost fiercely, like the words could break through to the person he’d been. And she buried her face back in his robe, and no, he still couldn’t put his arms around her, but he could breathe in her hair and lean into her, and he could let her pull back his hood with steady fingers and take off his mask to free his mouth. And he could look back into her eyes and could hold still as she kissed him. He couldn’t kiss her back.

            She took a step away, eyes not leaving his. “I love you, Oliver,” she said again, and she smiled like everything was okay, and it was almost impossible not to rock into her and bury his lips in her neck. He couldn’t do that, but he could stay and let her undress him. Her hands were sure as she found every fastening and undid them almost tenderly, pushing his clothes from his shoulders until they fell to the floor. She leaned forward every so slowly and pressed her lips to his heart. “I love you,” she whispered, almost like she couldn’t help it.

            He bit his lips to keep from saying it back.

            There were tears in her eyes again, and he hated seeing them there. Hated it almost with a blind rage. He wanted to kiss her tears away. He wanted to kiss her until every ounce of pain she’d felt was wiped clean.

            She put her hands on his waistband, and he sucked in a breath. “Tell me not to keep going,” she choked out. “Tell me to stop.”

            He should. He should tell her to stop. He should back away, back through the window, back to Nanda Parbat. But he couldn’t. He stood there, and he knew his eyes screamed for her to continue, and he saw her breath hitch as she read him.

            She stepped back anyway, and just as he felt disappointment hit his gut, her hands moved to the zipper of her dress. She undressed slowly until she stood naked in front of him, though he was the one who felt naked, the most naked he’d been since he’d given up his name. And then she pulled his head down and kissed him again, and this time he felt his mouth moving with hers, without his will, like an instinct. He felt her undo his pants and push them down. He felt her small, warm hand slip into his as she drew him to her bed.

            He let her push him down onto the mattress, let her crawl on top and kiss him some more, let his hands curl around her hips to hold her in place. She stopped kissing him and choked out, “Please say something, Oliver,” and the pain in her eyes almost killed him.

            He needed to tell her Oliver was dead, that he’d been wiped out and all that was in his place was the man that had just killed a businessman, the man that had killed forty-three people in the last year, the man that had forgotten how to feel. But instead, he said her name. “Felicity.”

He hadn’t let himself say her name in two years. The man he had become didn’t deserve to let those syllables fall from his mouth. But now, watching her face light up, dimples blooming on her cheeks, he told himself that he could pretend to be Oliver, for her. He could kiss her back and tangle his fingers in her hair and pretend there was even a drop of human left in him, just to keep that smile on her face.

            “I love you, Oliver,” she said into his mouth. She could barely kiss him for smiling.

            He still couldn’t say it back.

            He let her tip him backwards, let his hands roam up her spine as she angled her hips just right. She sank down, gasping as he filled her, and he let himself gasp with her. He moved with her, under her. He wanted to give her everything before he left her again. When he saw she was on the edge, he gave her every second of pleasure he could possibly bring her with his fingers between their hips. And when she came, he tried to shove away the flutter he felt in his dead heart when she screamed his name. She slumped forward, resting her forehead on his breastbone, and he let her stay there a minute before making to lift her off.

            Her head shot up. “No,” she said, fire in her voice, though her hips were still trembling. “You didn’t…”

            He shook his head. He ignored the pulsing in his pelvis, fought to hold still, even as her wriggling forced out a groan. He couldn’t let himself go. He couldn’t have even a second of happiness. It would destroy him.

            She kissed him again, right on the corner of his mouth. Then she sat back up, and he felt himself slide even further inside her. It took every ounce of restraint to stay silent. “Give us a moment,” she said, and it was the closest she’d ever come to begging. “Give us one more night. Let us at least have that.”

            She was blurring before his eyes and he realized he was crying. He hadn’t known he could still cry. “I…” he said hoarsely. “I can’t let myself.”

            “Let me,” she whispered. She pulled up a couple of inches and then slammed back down into him, doing it again and again, but not fast enough, not hard enough.

            “Felicity,” he ground out.

            “Go right ahead,” she gasped, and he flipped them over and sped them up. He didn’t want to break her, but she was right with him, nails digging into his hips. “Let it all go, Oliver,” she shouted, and he snapped completely. They groaned together, both their moans mixed with sobs. He came and felt himself collapse, felt her hands come up around him to scruff through his hair.

            Her heart beat in his ear. If that were the only sound he ever heard for the rest of his life, he would be happier than he’d ever been before. “I killed someone today,” he said into her collarbone, almost as if she could give him absolution.

            Her fingers didn’t still in his hair. “Oh, Oliver,” she sighed.

            “I’ve killed a lot of people.”

            He didn’t know why he was telling her this, but when she whispered that she loved him into his forehead he felt a flash of anger because that wasn’t what he wanted.

            He jerked off of her. “Is that all you’re going to say?” he growled, recognizing his Al Sah-him voice.

            She didn’t flinch. “What do you want me to say, Oliver?” she demanded, sliding her hands down to cup his face.

            He didn’t know. “I’m not Oliver,” he said finally, but let her guide his head back down to rest on her chest.

            “You’re still Oliver,” she said, tears in her voice.

            “I have to go.”

            “I know.”

            He gave himself five more minutes, five more minutes to lie in her arms and listen to her breathe. And after five minutes, he climbed off of her. She let him go.

            She followed him out of the bedroom, watching him pull his clothes slowly on. He turned around when he had the hood back over his head, but he didn’t put the mask on. Not yet.

            “Last time I asked you to be happy.”

            She nodded, swallowing visibly to hold in her tears.

            “But you didn’t do that,” he said, and he couldn’t look her in the eyes because it was all his fault.

            “I can try, Oliver, but you know I can’t be happy without you.”

            He just shook his head. “Oliver isn’t coming back.”

            She wiped away more tears. He hated seeing her cry. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and kiss away every one that fell from her eyes. “Can you promise me you won’t give up?” she asked in a small voice.

            It was too late. Why couldn’t she see it was too late? “Can you promise me you’ll be happy?”

            Felicity walked hesitantly forward, and when he made no move to stop her, put her arms around him again, resting her forehead on his shoulder. This time, he let himself hug her back because maybe it would make her happy. She deserved to be happy. “I hate saying goodbye,” she mumbled.

            “I know,” he said, eyes slipping shut. If he memorized this moment, maybe it could get him through another two years. “But we have to.”

            She let go, looked up at him, desperation making her voice quake. “No we don’t.”

            He moved away. “Goodbye, Felicity.”

            “No!” she shouted. “You didn’t say goodbye last time.”

            “Maybe if I say it this time, you won’t wait for me,” he said harshly, and the wind blew in cold through the open window, a reminder of what was next.

            She took a breath and put a hand on his sleeve in the familiar way they’d used to do. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. When I left you, I knew it was goodbye, but in my head I guess I thought I’d see you soon, at least sooner than two years.”

He wanted to apologize, or maybe warn her to give up that hope. He kept quiet, though, staring down at the small hand on her sleeve because if he blinked, he was sure she’d disappear.

“I don’t think that anymore. But I do have one certainty. I’m certain that I’m always going to wait for you. I’m never going to not love you, Oliver.”

            Maybe every emotion he’d given up was coursing through him at once, stronger than ever. He could feel himself shaking, and he was wearing the robes that termed him a killer, the robes he’d worn earlier that day when he’d watched the life bleed out of someone he’d ended, someone he’d never met. And he was shaking in those robes because that what she did to him, that’s what she could still reduce him to, Oliver or not. He loved her so much that sometimes it was the only thing he could remember. He couldn’t tell her that, so instead he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers, quick and chaste, because he needed to give her _something_ , and she smiled back at him, fleeting and impossible.

            “Goodbye,” he said, because he had to.

            “Until next time,” she said, and then, “I love you.”

            He left through the window at that, forcing himself not to look back at her, at least until he was on the other rooftop. Then, he watched her collapse against the wall, face in her hands.

            Apparently he had more of Oliver Queen left than he’d known. He couldn’t afford that. As he tied the mask back over his mouth he shut himself down bit by bit, the wanting first, the sorrow next, the anger last. He didn’t bother with the love. He knew that at least was impossible to erase. But he stared at the woman he loved through the window until she swam before his gaze, until the sight of her made him nothing but numb. And then he walked away from her, from everything, for the last time. This world wasn’t his; this life wasn’t his. He had no claim to any part of it.

            Al Sah-him strode away into night’s embrace and he didn’t feel a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me


	8. Cheers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team Arrow goes out for drinks after the Dodger case.

The ghost of the bomb collar still pressed on Felicity’s throat, but when Diggle tried to get her out of the gala, she insisted she was fine. It was her first mission, and she’d already gotten herself into trouble. There was no reason to let her new team see how freaked out she was.

            They decided to wait for Oliver outside the gala, and when Felicity shivered in the night air, Digg gave her his suit coat. She stood there, wrapped in the massive folds, warm and safe. “This is fun,” she thought, realizing a little late that she’d said it out loud.

            Digg frowned. “Felicity, the guy put a bomb on you.”

            “Yeah but,” she shrugged. “I don’t go out a lot in the evenings.”

            “Okay,” he said, amused.

            Oliver sped in on his motorcycle just then, leaping off it and rushing up to her, like it was an emergency. He put a hand on her shoulder and scanned her face. “You okay?”

            “Yeah.” She tried not to squirm at the attention. “Did you kill him?”

            He seemed thrown by the question, giving her a long look before replying. “No.”

            “Oh,” she said, unsure of how she felt about that. It was actually pretty hard to think, in the moment. Exciting things didn’t usually happen to her, and here she was, all dressed up, at a gala, and she’d just narrowly escaped getting her head exploded. And Oliver Queen’s hand was still on her shoulder and it was very distracting.

            The men seemed to be having a wordless conversation over her head, and then Oliver said, “Let’s get you home.”

            Felicity didn’t like the sound of that. “Home, really? But I’m all dressed up.”

            Digg and Oliver made eye contact again and it was pretty obvious they saw right through her, saw that what she really wanted was company. “What do you want to do?” Diggle asked her gently.

            She thought about this, wrapping his suit coat even tighter around herself. “I could really go for a drink.”

***

            “So is this what it’s like every time?” Felicity asked after her second margarita. Oliver had insisted on paying, and she hadn’t argued, just decided that yes, she was totally in the mood for some jalapeno poppers.

            “I hope not,” said Diggle with a smile.

            “Ideally, you’d stay in the basement for the most part.” The third beer had taken the tension from Oliver’s shoulders, and he’d stopped frowning every time he looked at her. That was good. She didn’t want him to blame himself for her head almost going poof. She’d agreed to do this, after all.

            “That basement,” Felicity said, sighing.

            Digg chuckled. “You don’t like it?”

            She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Does anyone?”

            “Don’t tell Oliver that. He designed it.”

            “It does the job,” said Oliver defensively.

            “If by ‘job’ you mean, slowly filling our lungs with mold.” She took a sip of her margarita, raising her eyebrows at Oliver.

            “There’s no mold!”

            Diggle laughed again, and there it was, that look Oliver had been shooting her all night. She flushed self-consciously. She knew it was the dress, or the hair, or the lack of glasses, because Oliver was looking at her like she was a _woman_ , and she wasn’t sure she wanted that. Especially since then _she_ would have to notice how the tuxedo made his shoulders look, and the warm glow in his eyes that was maybe from the alcohol, or maybe from her, and how it had felt to know, when she was so, so sure she was about to die, that he was tearing through the streets on his motorcycle, trying to save her. She tried smiling across the table, and he smiled back, more easily than she’d ever seen before.

            “Do you want another drink?”

            “Yes please.” There was a warm glow in her belly now, and there were two men across the table that she trusted with her life. Two ways her day was actually _better_ since the morning.

            She stopped after four drinks, and they walked out of the restaurant to try to catch a cab.

            “You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” Diggle asked her as she slipped his suit coat off and handed it back to him.

            “I can hold my alcohol,” she said, moments before nearly twisting her ankle as she toppled to the side.

            The men were in stitches.

            “It was my heel!” she tried to explain, but there was no point, and she couldn’t help but join in the laughter.

            They flagged a cab over and Oliver handed her in, catching her eyes one last time. “See you tomorrow?” He looked a little hesitant, as if remembering her reluctance to join the team and her quitting it earlier, because he couldn’t know that all that had changed sometime between the first and second drink.

            “Yeah.”

            And the cab rolled off and she waved out the window, and she felt like she’d just made two friends.

           


	9. Laundry Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College Laundry AU!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on the true experience of college laundry rooms sucking in every way. I'm looking at you, [name of university redacted]!

            It was the worst kind of day. She’d run out of socks, of all the things, and it was cold outside, and she had to take a midterm in almost two hours, which meant there was just enough time to do her laundry as long as she put her clothes in _now_ , except there were only three machines for the entire residential hall, because the stupid university was too cheap to fix the broken ones, and oh yeah, some jackass still had his clothes in one of them, even though the cycle had ended five minutes ago.

            A girl walked into the laundry room just then, balancing a giant hamper on her hip. “Are there no machines left?” she asked with a groan.

            Felicity just shook her head, dancing impatiently from foot to foot.

            “Ugh.” The girl put the hamper down and squinted at the machines. “That one says 0 minutes,” she said, pointing.

            “Yeah, but there’s clothes in there,” said Felicity uncomfortably.

            “Yeah, and you don’t want to be that asshole,” the girl nodded. “I get it. But it’s not your fault some people are irresponsible.”

            Felicity chewed on her lip, but didn’t reply.

            The girl stood there for another five minutes, as if waiting for Felicity to do something, and then she rolled her eyes and left, dragging the heavy hamper after her.

            But she’d had a point, Felicity admitted to herself as she looked at her watch. The laundry room was a public facility, and it was important to be respectful of other people’s time. You couldn’t just put a load of clothes in and just forget about it; other people had lives, and commitments, and midterms to take. She glanced at her watch again. The cycle had been finished for nearly fifteen minutes now; her midterm was in an hour and forty minutes. The wash cycle would take thirty-seven minutes, and the dryer would take an hour, but she could take it out in forty minutes and just deal with having damp clothes. That would give her five minutes to run to her room and dump her clothes on her bed and fifteen minutes to get to class. And that meant that, fuck Lazy Guy; she was going to dump out his clothes.

            She pried open the washing machine and confirmed that indeed, the lazy asshole was a dude. It was full of boxers and khaki pants and polo shirts, classic douche wardrobe. There was a frat hoodie, too, and Felicity picked it up in disgust and set it on top of the machine. She started pulling clothes out in handfuls. It looked like he hadn’t done laundry in _ages_ judging by the number of boxers in there. Not that she was any better. She made a careful pile on the washer as she kept going.

            “Hey,” someone said from behind her, and she spun around. It was a boy she’d never seen before, with blond hair and blue eyes, good-looking in a football player kind of way, totally not her type, not that he looked like he would go for a Goth girl either. He was crossing his arms and one of his eyebrows was raised.

            Felicity gulped. “Uh oh. These are your clothes, aren’t they.”

            “Mm-hmm.”

            She couldn’t read his expression. “Okay, so, this looks bad, but your wash cycle was done for fifteen minutes, and I have a laundry emergency. And I have a midterm. Really soon, actually, and I planned it all out, and I barely have enough time to wash my clothes and then get to class. So it looked like you were never going to show up, and there aren’t any machines left…” One of the machines next to her abruptly stopped shaking, and they both looked over and saw that it now said 0 minutes. “Well, now there are, but there weren’t before, and okay, look, this is all _your_ fault.”

            The boy blinked.

            “You should’ve picked your clothes up on time. You can’t just expect everyone else to wait for you to get your shit together!” She suddenly noticed that for the entirety of the conversation, she’d been holding a wet pair of his boxers. “Oh God,” she squeaked, throwing it at the pile of clothes. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

            The boy was…smiling? Was he insane?

            Felicity buried her face in her hands. “You know what? I’m just gonna…let you pick up your clothes.”

            “Thanks,” said the boy, and he definitely sounded amused. He gathered up the pile of wet clothes in a single armful and walked over to the dryers, opening one with his foot.

            Felicity forced herself to stop gaping after him and started shoveling her own clothes into the now-empty washer. She could feel his eyes on her as she measured out the detergent and felt around in her pockets for quarters. And her pockets were empty. She tipped forward, banging her head against the washing machine with a groan.

            “Forgot your quarters?” She looked up to see the boy leaning against the next machine, watching her.

            “I’m having a rough day,” she muttered, flopping her head back down.

            She looked up again as she felt him move closer, and, keeping his eyes on her, he leaned over her and dropped three quarters into the machine.

            “You don’t have to do that,” she whispered.

            “I already did it,” he said lightly, not moving away from her, and wow, he was tall. And good-looking may have been an understatement. He was _hot_ , and Felicity was suddenly very aware of her sweatpants and university t-shirt. He walked away abruptly, calling over his shoulder, “Wouldn’t want you to miss your midterm.”

            “Thanks,” she said shakily, not quite recovered from…whatever that was. She selected her cycle, and then as soon as her clothes started spinning, booked it out of there, doing her best not to look at him as she left.

            Later, after her midterm, which went much better than she’d expected, she sat on her bed and folded all her clothes. Most of them were still damp but what could she do. She pulled another t-shirt out of her hamper and then stared at it in confusion. This did not belong to her. It was a black shirt that said “Not Now, Babe, I’m Drinking a Beer.” She made a face as she read the caption. It had to belong to the guy in the laundry room. Maybe it had fallen off the clothes mountain into her hamper, or maybe it had stayed in the washing machine and she hadn’t noticed. She glared at the t-shirt, thinking about what to do. She could try to find the guy on Facebook, post on the residential hall’s page that she had someone’s shirt. But honestly, she didn’t particularly want another awkward meeting, and she _really_ didn’t want to enable anyone to wear this shirt, ever. So she stuffed it in the back of her t-shirt drawer and decided to forget about all of this.

 

            A month passed, and Felicity had yet to do her laundry. She’d run out of absolutely everything, She rooted around in every drawer for something to wear (she’d totally run out of pants) and found the stupid beer t-shirt. She groaned and pulled it on over her head, and it went down to her thighs, so really it was her only option until she did her freaking laundry.

            The laundry room was empty, which was a relief since her clothes took three full loads. She needed to stop doing this, she told herself, shivering a little because of her lack of pants. When her clothes finally came out of the dryer, she stuffed them all in her hamper again and headed for the elevator, just praying that she didn’t run into anyone.

            The elevator stopped on the first floor, much to her distress, and she tugged self-consciously at her t-shirt before the doors slid open. And in walked the boy from the laundry room, looking like a freaking model, even though clearly his douche wardrobe had not changed. Of course. Because her life was a joke.

            He was on his phone and maybe he wouldn’t notice her, so she crossed her arms to try to hide her t-shirt and stared aggressively at the floor.

            “Hey.”

            She snapped her head up, and the boy was considering her, head tilted to one side.

            “Oh,” she said miserably.

            “That’s my t-shirt.”

            She looked down at it and then back up at him. “Oh really? You have this shirt too?” She laughed nervously. He just raised his eyebrows and she broke. “Okay, I found this mixed in with my laundry, and I should’ve given it back to you, but, well, I didn’t, and I wouldn’t have worn it except that I don’t have pants.”

            His eyes widened at that revelation.

            She groaned. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

            “What, do you steal other people’s clothes a lot?” he asked, amused.

            “No! I mean, why do I keep embarrassing myself in front of you?”

            “Is this embarrassing?”

            “Yes! Of course it is! I’m wearing your shirt!” She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to look at him. “I’ll give it back to you.”

            There was a pause, and then he said, “No, you should keep it.”

            She opened her eyes to see him looking her up and down, a little smile on his face. She flushed. “I don’t want it! What would I do with a shirt that says ‘Not Now, Babe, I’m Drinking a Beer’?”

            “You don’t like it?” He was still staring at her, and she tugged the t-shirt down again.

            “No! It’s awful.”

            “Then why did you steal it?”

            He was smirking, and she couldn’t find a response, so she just crossed her arms again.

            “What are you doing after this?” he asked suddenly.

            Felicity couldn't tell where this was going. “Putting on pants.”

            He laughed, surprised and short. “I mean after that.”

            "I don't know," she said, shaking her head in confusion.

            “Do you want to grab a coffee?” he asked, leaning casually against the side of the elevator.

            She felt her jaw drop a little. “Let me get this straight. You,” she gestured at him, “want to get a coffee with _me_.”

            “Unless you can think of a better way to make up for stealing my clothes.” He nodded at her laundry hamper. “Anything in there that would fit me?”

            Felicity stared at him, and then couldn’t help but giggle.

            He smiled back, and then held out his hand. “Oliver.”

            She hesitated a second before shaking it. “Felicity.”

            “Do you want to grab a coffee, Felicity?” he asked seriously.

            “I would love to,” she said, and she didn’t let go of his hand. “I’m paying, though.”

            “I don’t have a problem with that.”

            They smiled at each other for a little longer, and then the elevator suddenly ground to a halt. Felicity looked around, confused. “What floor are we on?”

            “Ten.”

            “Great. I missed my stop.” And she hadn’t even noticed the elevator stopping on her floor, or the doors sliding open, or anything, really, other than Oliver’s stupidly blue eyes.

            Oliver grinned. “Me too.”

            The elevator doors opened now, much to her disappointment, and three people stepped in. Two of them did a double take when they saw Felicity’s shirt, and the third one just waggled his eyebrows.

            Felicity glanced over at Oliver and shrugged. The shirt was growing on her.


	10. Same Page/Scrambled Eggs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coda to 4x06, and then a coda to the coda. Really, two separate drabbles that I put in the same place because...reasons. Is there a reason I do anything?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spiraling because of 4x06. Back to your regularly scheduled...other things later.

            By the time she rolled off him, both of them were breathing hard. “Wow,” she gasped. “Missed that.”

            Oliver turned on his side to face her, enjoying her blissed-out face almost more than the sinful acts that had caused it. Almost. “Felicity, it’s been four days.”

            “I know! Four whole days!”

            “Yeah,” he said softly, feeling the corners of his lips turn up involuntarily.

            She was on her side now too, and beaming at him, until the smile slipped off her face and she reached out to rub lines out of his forehead that he hadn’t known were there. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

            “It’s nothing,” he said, and he almost meant it, but her pursed lips told him she wasn’t buying it. There was no lying to her. There never had been. “We don’t have to talk about it now,” he tried instead. He tucked her hair gently behind her ear, the golden strands soft on his fingers. “You should get some sleep, finally.”

            She shook her head impatiently. “I don’t need to sleep right now.”

            He raised his eyebrows.

            “Oliver, I’m fine. I’ve been keeping myself awake with caffeine and strategic power naps, and I’m totally going to crash later, but so far, I’m totally, completely fine!” He shot her a look, and she added, “Well, fine enough to stay awake for a five minute conversation.”

            “That’s not healthy.”

            “I am perfectly aware,” she said, and then tapped him on the nose. “But you’re just stalling.”

            He sighed. “It’s really not a big deal.”

            “Oliver.”

            He reached for her hair again, twisting a lock between his fingertips, staring at it to avoid her gaze. “I just…” He blew out a breath, and then started again, keeping his voice carefully light. “When you came back tonight, for a second I thought you were going to break up with me.”

            “What?” Her hair slipped out of his fingers as she shot up to lean on her elbow. He risked a glance at her expression, and she looked almost…horrified. “Oliver, what the hell?”

            “It was just for a second,” he said defensively, and despite her scrunch-nosed, slack-jawed dismay, a small part of him he hadn’t realized was all knotted up smoothed over a little, because apparently that hadn’t even been on her mind.

            Felicity ignored his feeble protest. “I thought we were on the same page. Relationship wise.”

            “What page are we on?” Oliver asked, and it came out needy, insecure. But he wasn’t embarrassed. It was Felicity.

            “The page where, I love you,” she said fiercely. “And you know that.”

            “Yeah,” he said throatily, because he did.

            “And I’m pretty sure you love me.”

            “Completely.”

            “So I’m just confused as to your confusion.”

            Oliver took her hand and tangled his fingers in hers, and she softened a little, dropping her head back down to her pillow at last. “Well, yesterday was…confusing.”

            She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes closed. “You mean my freak out?”

            He nodded. “And you were freaking out about _us_.”

            “I know. And I was mean, and a little bit neurotic, and I’m _sorry_ ,” she said, pouting a little.

            “You know I’m not mad.”

            “Yeah, cause you’re the best boyfriend ever,” she said fondly.

            He smirked a little. “I know.”

            She rubbed circles on his knuckles, giving him a soft smile that lit him up from the inside until he was warm to the tips of his fingers. “I freaked out because I love you _too_ much, if that makes sense.” She paused. “Okay, it doesn’t. But I… Well, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. And that scared me. Because…because I could spend the rest of my life just sitting here, next to you, and I wouldn’t need anything else.” She tilted her head. “Except food, I guess.”

            A laugh escaped him, and she grinned, pleased.

            “And then my mom told me that I didn’t have to be afraid. Because you’re not going to leave me.”

            Her words had left a ringing in his ears, but he still managed to tease, “So what you’re saying is, it was a good thing I invited your mother over.”

            “I will never admit that,” she whispered mock-seriously.

            The words were still hovering on his lips to ask her _why_ , why she was so sure of him, why she chose him, why she loved him. But it didn’t matter why. All that mattered was that she _was_ sure. And he didn’t need her to explain. He just needed her to love him. And she did love him.

            She was naked, and he let his eyes drift down her body, glowing in the moon’s rays and in the soft light of the bedside lamp. She was perfect. And there still was, maybe always would be, that little voice whispering in the back of his head that he didn’t deserve her, that she was too good for him, but she was still next to him, wasn’t she? And if he tugged her closer by a hand on her hip, she leaned in willingly, enthusiastically, and kissed the life out of him (or maybe into him), hands softly cupping his face. And he knew, really knew in that moment that she’d been right, what she’d said. They were going to be fine.

            She stopped kissing him long enough to wrap herself around him, nuzzling his jaw. “I hope that now you know you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon,” she whispered.

            He flipped onto his back, pulling her on top of him once more. “That’s the way I like it.” And when she leaned down to kiss him again, he decided that the very next morning, he’d pull his mother’s ring out of his sock drawer and that soon after, finally put it on her finger, because it had not escaped his attention that she’d said she wanted to be beside him for the rest of her life. And because, in this regard as well as most, they were on the same page.

 

* * *

 

 

            Felicity did her best to fall asleep again. She really did. But all that caffeine over the span of three days, it had wrecked her. She could feel one of her feet shaking under the covers but couldn’t manage to get it to stop, and Oliver’s arm over her was heavy, like he was asleep, and she really didn’t want to wake him. So she slipped out from under his arm and tip toed to the armchair upon which Oliver had flung his button down shirt. She slipped it on, loving how long the sleeves were on her. She loved wearing his clothes.

            Downstairs, she planned to just relax. No work, for once. Maybe she’d read a book, or watch late-night reruns, infomercials even. She hadn’t expected the kitchen light to be on. And then she remembered that her mother was home. Oh yeah.

            “Felicity?” Donna whispered in delight. She’d just put a frying pan on the stove and was rummaging in the fridge. There was a dance in her step that was a little much for three in the morning, and Felicity crossed her arms suspiciously.

            “Mom, what are you doing up?”

            “I might ask you the same question,” she said, pulling a carton of eggs out with a flourish. “Except that is not your shirt. Did Oliver keep you up all night? I’m glad you two made up. I was right about the sex, wasn’t I?”

            Felicity just shook her head embarrassedly. Not that she should be surprised by anything her mother said.

            “Shouldn’t you be asleep though, Hon? Oliver told me you haven’t slept in days.” She tapped an egg against the counter, looking surprised when it didn’t crack. She tapped again, even more tentatively, and Felicity rolled her eyes.

            “Oliver should not have told you that,” she muttered, and then took pity on her mother and snatched the egg out of her hand, cracking it into the frying pan.

            “How did you do that?” Donna gasped.

            “Mom, I’m 26 years old. I can crack an egg.” Felicity chose not to mention that she’d picked up this particular skill over the summer, with Oliver.

            “Anyway, sweetheart, don’t be mad at Oliver for telling me things. He’s worried about you! We both are.” Donna now seemed to realize she’d neglected to light the burner. “Whoops.”

            She’d been annoyed by it before, but now, in the light of being in a slightly better mood, Felicity figured she should count her blessings. Two of the people she loved most in the world loved each other too. Really, she was lucky. So she let it go, asking instead, “Are you making scrambled eggs?”

            “You mean, the only thing I can cook?”

            Felicity let out a nostalgic sigh. Her Vegas childhood was filled with freezer food, cocktail snacks, and take out. So much take out. Scrambled eggs were for special occasions. Fancy brunch at the Smoaks’ was scrambled eggs with toast straight out of the temperamental toaster, more often burned than not. Donna would have a mimosa and try to convince Felicity to try it. But Felicity would stick with coffee. She got hooked on coffee when she was ten years old and never looked back.

            “Do you want some, baby?”

            She nodded, and watched, smiling, as her mother bustled around the kitchen, looking for a spatula, as the eggs sizzled away on the frying pan.

            “Oh,” Donna said finally, coming to a stop in front of the stove. “I guess we’re having fried eggs then.” She hummed under her breath and poked at the eggs with the spatula.

            Felicity considered her mother. She was a happy person, but this was just…more. “Okay, Mom, spit it out.”

            Donna turned to her and squealed, like she’d been waiting for the question. “I met a guy.”

            Felicity blinked. “Oh.”

            “Yes, and he’s incredible! He’s a cop. And he hasn’t dated in a while. Said he never wanted to again, after his divorce, until he met me. Said I was a ray of sunshine.” Donna sighed and clutched the spatula to her heart.

            “That’s nice.” Felicity was always wary of her mother’s boyfriends, but this seemed different. And cops were…respectable. Unless they were part of a cabal that ran drug smuggling rings.

            Felicity took a seat at the table and Donna set a fried egg down in front of her. It looked safe enough, and she used her fork to cut out a careful triangle of egg white.

            “He was such a gentleman! We talked for hours, and then all he did was call me a cab! Paid for it, too!”

            “I’m happy for you,” said Felicity, meaning it.

            Donna beamed at her from the frying pan, where she was doing…something to the other fried egg. “Thanks, baby. And maybe that means I’ll be in Star City more!” For once, that didn’t seem like a bad thing.

            Felicity had only taken three bites of her egg when she was hit by a wave of exhaustion. “Whoa,” she whispered, trying to blink her eyes open.

            “Someone needs to sleep,” her mother said immediately, not missing a thing.

            “Sorry,” Felicity said, struggling to her feet before she passed out right at the table.

            “I’ll be here tomorrow,” Donna said brightly, hurrying forward on the heels she was still inexplicably wearing to kiss her daughter on the cheek.

            “I might still be asleep,” Felicity muttered.

            The way back up the stairs was a stumbling blur. Oliver hadn’t moved a single inch since she’d left. She fell backwards onto the bed and then burrowed into him, tucking his arm back around her. He stirred and pulled her closer, whispering against her ear, “Go to sleep.” She nodded sluggishly, and then her eyelids slipped shut liked they'd been magnetized. It had been a long week.


	11. The Realistic, In-Character Version of 4x08 That We All Deserved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How I thought it would all go down when I was young and naive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the actual, word-for-word version of how I thought events would transpire WRT #BabyMamaDrama. I totally, legitimately thought it would happen exactly like this. Wow, those writers really know how to keep me guessing!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> HAHAHAHAHahahaha (dies inside)

He walked in in a daze, and felt her catch him by the arm. “Okay, what’s going on with you?” she asked sharply.

            “I…” he started to say, but it was too much. Maybe if he didn’t put it words to it, it wouldn’t be true.

            Felicity’s face changed immediately from confusion to concern. “Okay come here.” She tugged him to the sofa and shoved him slightly so he sat down. Then she sat next to him, hand still rubbing up and down his arm, grounding him. “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me about it right away, but it’ll probably help if you talk about it.”

            He briefly considered a future in which he didn’t tell her anything, in which he buried this deep inside, because, really, this wasn’t possible. And he was afraid to sort through the tangle inside him because he was afraid of what he’d find at the center, of what he really felt, what he wanted. But this was Felicity, and she was smiling encouragingly at him, and in the wake of a smile like that he could do no less than comply. So, haltingly, he did, without looking at her. “At Jitters with Barry I saw…I saw a woman I used to know. Samantha. We…she…ten years ago, I got her pregnant.” Felicity’s hand on his arm stilled, suddenly, and Oliver just closed his eyes and continued. “She told me she lost the baby, and I believed her. But then today, she had a boy with her. He looked nine years old, maybe. And I think…” He couldn’t keep going, just let out a puff of air.

            “You think you have a son.” Her voice was small, shocked. And still, he couldn’t bear to look at her. “What are you going to do?”

            “I don’t know.”

            And then her fingers tightened around his, and she moved closer, hand creeping up to cup his cheek. “Oliver, hey.” And finally, he looked at her, and her expressions held none of the things he’d feared. “We’ll figure this out,” she said firmly. And he could finally breathe again, because she didn’t hate him, because they were partners and he wasn’t alone.

            “He…they looked happy. I don’t need to interfere in that. I don’t want to bring all this,” he gestured around the room, where his bow lay next to Thea’s, ready for him to grab when an emergency inevitably arose, “into his life.”

            Felicity swallowed, and shook her head. “Oliver, my father left when I was young, and don’t get me wrong, he was terrible and we were better off without him, but…kids need their dads.”

            She was blinking back tears, and he squeezed her hand in his. “So you think I should go for it?”

            She shrugged, giving him a watery smile. “I think you’d be a great dad. I always thought someday we’d—“

            He didn’t let her finish, swooped in, both hands cupping her face, and kissed her, like he’d never kissed her before, like they had years, but like he couldn’t go another moment without his mouth on hers. His lips were trembling against hers, or maybe hers were, and he just stayed there, loosely wrapped in her, breathing her in, and he wondered if he’d ever move. And when he finally did, it was just to press his forehead against hers, their noses still touching, his hands still cradling her face. “I want that,” he confessed hoarsely.

            “I know,” she whispered back. “And I know you want this too.”

            He could see it now, like she’d blown the cobwebs off his heart. He could see himself with that little boy from the coffee shop playing with his Flash toys, going to ball games…being a dad. “I have a son,” he said, for the first time, and somehow, impossibly, he was smiling.

            Felicity yelped as he threw his arms around her, and then melted into him when he whispered in her ear that he loved her. “I love you too,” she said immediately. And Oliver could only tighten his hold on her because he was so lucky, so damn lucky.

            “There you are,” Barry said from above them, and they broke reluctantly apart. “What were you guys even doing here? We have a crazy immortal guy to fight, remember?”

            “We were just…making a decision,” Oliver said, grinning at Felicity, and then he took her hand in hers and they followed Barry out of the room, as much a team as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday, I will quit this show. Someday.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know in the comments if you have a prompt for me! Also if you just want to chat. I love to chat.
> 
> -Jo


End file.
